Serve Me, My Lord

It was early afternoon. The living room of the cramped apartment was quiet. Emmett reached inside the lining of his gray jacket. He pulled out a thick, yellow envelope.

He placed the envelope on the scratched coffee table. He pushed it toward his mother. It contained every dollar of his miserable monthly salary from the manor.

His mother stared at the cash inside. Her eyes widened in shock. She shook her head and pushed it back.

"No, Emmett," she said weakly. "You need this. You need to buy things for yourself. You need to fit in with the other staff."

Emmett picked up the envelope. He gently forced it into her cold hands. He folded her fingers over the paper.

"The manor pays for everything," Emmett lied smoothly. His voice was calm and reassuring. "I get free food. Free uniforms. I don't spend a dime. Keep it. Buy medicine."

Elspeth stood by the kitchen counter. She stared at the stack of bills. She bit her bottom lip. She looked at Emmett and whispered, "Thank you."

Emmett stood up. He walked to the kitchen sink. He picked up a wrench from the counter. He tightened the leaking pipe under the faucet with three sharp, efficient twists. The dripping stopped instantly.

He wiped the grease off his hands with a paper towel. He looked at the broken clock on the wall.

"I have to go back," Emmett said. "Curfew."

He walked to the front door. He stopped and crouched down in front of Elspeth. He looked directly into her eyes. His expression turned deadly serious.

"Listen to me," Emmett said. His voice was low. "No matter what happens, never trust people who drive expensive cars. Never trust the rich. Do you understand?"

Elspeth frowned. She looked confused by the sudden warning. But she saw the intense, dark look in his eyes. She nodded slowly.

Emmett stood up. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. As he walked down the stairs, he heard Maeve and Tobin cheering as they opened the chocolate. A small, genuine smile touched his lips.

When he stepped outside, the sky had turned dark gray. The wind whipped his thin jacket around his waist.

He walked fast toward the tram stop.

A sleek, black motorcar sped down the street. Its tires hit a deep pothole filled with dirty water. A massive wave of muddy water splashed toward the sidewalk.

Emmett reacted instantly. He jumped backward, his boots hitting the brick wall. The water missed his legs by an inch.

He stood still. He stared at the glowing red taillights of the motorcar as it disappeared down the street. His eyes were cold.

The tram arrived. It rattled and shook. Emmett climbed aboard. He sat in the back, surrounded by the smell of bleach and despair.

The tram drove back toward the wealthy suburbs. The sky turned completely black. In the distance, the lights of Patterson Manor glowed like a massive fortress on the hill.

Emmett got off at the back service entrance. He walked to the security checkpoint.

A large security guard patted him down roughly. The guard's hands checked his pockets and his waist. It was a humiliating process.

"Didn't even go get a drink on your day off?" the guard mocked. "Boring."

Emmett gave him a blank, stupid smile. He didn't say a word. The guard waved him through.

Emmett walked into the servant corridors. The air felt thick and heavy. A group of maids stood in the corner, whispering frantically.

Emmett's ears picked up the words "Master Alistair" and "screaming." His heart rate picked up, beating in a steady, controlled rhythm.

He walked into the men's locker room. He pulled off his jacket.

Rory leaned against the next locker. He looked around nervously.

"Master Alistair is playing in a massive polo match tomorrow," Rory whispered. "He's betting a fortune."

Emmett's hand froze on the metal door of his locker. The metal clinked softly.

Tomorrow. The polo match. The memory rushed into his brain. The horse getting spooked. Alistair flying through the air. The sickening crunch of his neck breaking on the grass.

"I hope he wins," Rory babbled. "If he wins, he usually throws a hundred-dollar bill at whoever brings him his boots."

Emmett turned his head. He looked at Rory's hopeful, greedy face.

"Don't get your hopes up," Emmett said. His voice was flat and hollow. "Accidents happen very fast."

Rory frowned. "You're always ruining the mood." Rory turned and walked away.

Emmett stood alone in the locker room. He looked at his reflection in the small mirror taped to the door. There was no pity in his eyes. Only cold, calculating anticipation.

He closed the locker. He walked down the hall to the head butler's office. He looked at the corkboard on the wall. He scanned the duty roster for tomorrow.

His finger traced the lines. There it was. Tomorrow afternoon. Emmett: Stables cleanup duty.

It was the perfect position. The stables were the communication hub when the accident happened. He would be right in the middle of the chaos.

Emmett smoothed the curled edge of the paper with his thumb. He turned and walked into the dark corridor.

Outside, a loud crack of thunder shook the manor. The storm was coming. And the clock was ticking down to zero.